A/N: Welcome back! I want to thank: MissMisc3, XantheXV, lottielovebuzz, Newland Archer, ForeverACharmedOne, dionne dance, Jay D. Moore, TinkerbellxO, PGAEmma and Leyshla Gisel.
You are all amazing for sticking with me.
Now, on with the chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Libertine.
*Dedicated to TinkerbellxO, because she's had a rough couple of weeks…*
Chapter 10
'The lust for comfort; that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host, and then a master.'
~Khalil Gibran
"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself." Chantal paused and her eyes moved away from the text. Her gaze fell on the man who was sitting silently in the settee, play in hand and eyes on the text.
She cleared her throat and he looked up at her, his right eyebrow cocked in query.
"My Lord?" she asked timidly and he cocked his head to the side.
"Why did you stop?" He asked her and she blinked rapidly.
"Um…what?"
"Why did you stop, Chantal?"
She tensed at the way he spoke her name. It had been two days since he had stopped calling her by her last name. It was still a novelty when it came from him. There was a certain way with which he called her name that made her fidget like mad every time he uttered it.
"My lines are over." She replied and he pursed his lips.
"Perhaps I did not make myself clear earlier." He swung his legs off the settee and his boots thudded loudly on the floor as he crossed the room to her, "I said, we shall practice the scene. Practice means repeating the lines over and over again, until you no longer have to look at them from here." He slapped a hand against the cover of her text and she jumped, "Am I clear?" He murmured quietly and she swallowed hard.
"Won't you help me with Romeo's lines then-…"
"I said, am I clear?" He cut her off through gritted teeth and she narrowed her eyes.
"Yes, my Lord." She muttered and he nodded.
"Good. Now, do it again." He pulled back and came to lean against the window, "And you shall face the mirror." He pointed towards the full body mirror across from her and she sighed.
"Why must I? It's bad enough that you have to stand here all the time while I practice." She snapped and he sneered.
"Complain about it again, and I'll have you deliver the speech naked." He threatened and her head turned sharply towards him.
"I beg your pardon?" She whispered and he smirked.
"You heard me. Now, get on with it."
"I can't when you order me like that!" She shook the play and he blinked innocently.
"Oh? Shall I wait and see when the mood strikes you then?"
Chantal closed her eyes and faced away from him, "Fine." She muttered as she tried very hard to ignore the way his eyes burned holes in her skin.
She took a breath and then started over, "'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. .."
"Stop. Start over." His voice cut her off and she turned to look at him.
"You're doing this to annoy me." She informed him with a hand on her hip and he snarled.
"Chantal! Do it again or you won't leave this room until midnight." His words were a hiss of fierce command and she clenched her teeth as she stared at him. He was relentless.
"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? It-…"
"Again. Wait, let your hair down." He stopped her again and she tightened her hold around the play until her knuckles turned white.
He ignored her irritation and opened the French doors instead, letting the cool breeze enter the study. She shivered and when he turned to her again, she reached up and pulled the ribbon away from her hair. Her locks fell over her shoulders and moved with the breeze.
"Maybe we should do this in the balcony." She muttered as she tied the ribbon around her wrist and looked at him from out of the corner of her eye.
He narrowed his eyes at her and she sighed, "If looks could kill, my Lord."
"Chantal…" he warned in a deep drawl and she smirked a little, "The option of having you deliver the lines naked seems more and more tempting right now…" He told her sharply and she straightened.
"I beg your pardon, my Lord." She cleared her throat and offered a charming smile to appease him. She didn't know if it worked, because his face didn't change and she suddenly felt like a fool.
She ignored the blush on her cheeks because in times like this he didn't allow any familiarity. Of course.
"'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague.What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so-…"
"Stop. Do it again." He cut her off near the end and she didn't look at him this time. She simply started over and she didn't stop until he cut her off again and again. She didn't face away from the mirror and when his hand suddenly reached out and plucked the play from her hand she gasped.
"My Lord!"
He shut the book and leaned against the window, a small smirk on his face.
"I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo." He delivered the lines quietly and she placed her hands on her hips.
"I want my text back."
"I fear, I must keep your security blanket. And for your cheek, you shall repeat the monologue again. Twice. Begin." He told her casually as he gently, but rhythmically tapped the play against his thigh.
Chantal sputtered and his smirk deepened as his eyes shone slyly.
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy; thou art thyself, though not a Montague. What's Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part belonging to a man. O, be some other name! What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; so Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, and for that name which is no part of thee take all myself."
As she finished the speech twice, she waited patiently and he didn't disappoint.
"I take thee at thy word: call me but love, and I'll be new baptized; henceforth I never will be Romeo."
She didn't fail to notice that he was delivering the lines by heart. Could he be any more focused than he already was? She doubted it.
"What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night, So stumblest on my counsel?" She replied in a strong voice and Rochester chuckled.
She turned and looked at him with surprise, "Did I make a mistake?"
"Yes, you did not look at me. Is Juliet blind, my pet?" He asked her with sarcasm and she bit the inside of her cheek hard.
"You told me not to face away from the mirror." She defended and he clicked his tongue.
"Not when you're interacting with other characters. Now, ask again." He enunciated the last sentence as if speaking to a child and she tried, but failed not to roll her eyes.
"Do it again and you shall start losing clothing." His voice was slightly amused, but held a dark edge to it.
"That is just childish! You wouldn't have me deliver the lines naked! It's Shakespeare!" She exploded and she didn't even see him pushing away from the window.
His hands curled around her waist and he turned her around forcefully. His fingers hooked on the laces of her dress and she panicked.
"Alright, alright! I'm sorry!" she screeched, "My Lord, please!"
His hands disappeared from her and his laughter rang in her ears as she turned to face him.
"That's not funny or amusing!" She gasped and he still laughed on.
"Oh, but it is. It is." He covered his eyes with his hand as he chuckled and then backed away, "Alright, alright. Calm down, woman. You're as red as a monkey's ass." He pointed a finger at her and she flushed even more.
"My Lord! Have you no shame? And fix my dress!" She exclaimed and he let out another hoarse chuckle before he walked over and righted the knot.
His hands touched her shoulders and she stiffened, but he simply rubbed the skin there and briefly nuzzled her ear before he stepped back.
"Apologies. But if you don't do as I say, I will have you arse naked while you deliver…Oh, the joy." He groaned a little and walked around to face her.
"You should be ashamed." She muttered as she reached forward, ready to pluck the play from his hand.
"Ah, ah! Tsk, tsk. What did I say? Let us continue." He pulled it away from her reach and she grimaced.
"What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night, so stumblest on my counsel?" She spat the words and he laughed again.
"By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am: My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself, because it is an enemy to thee; had I it written, I would tear the word." He sounded dead serious as he spoke and she calmed down a little.
The scene had always stirred a flutter in her insides. The words were beautiful even when they came from his debauched mouth…Perhaps they were even more beautiful because they were coming from him.
"My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound: Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?" She called, trying to sound a little breathless and very hopeful.
When he continued with a calm face and did not spit another insult she knew she had succeeded. She almost smiled in triumph.
"Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike."
He waved his fingers, rolling them in the air as he motioned her to continue with her speech.
"How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore? The orchard walls are high and hard to climb, and the place death, considering who thou art, if any of my kinsmen find thee here."
Chantal tried not to forget any line or pause and when he took a look at the text and continued, she knew she had gotten it right.
"With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;" His eyes locked with hers and he smirked as he continued, obviously finding the words amusing, "For stony limits cannot hold love out, and what love can do that dares love attempt; therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me."
"If they do see thee, they will murder thee."
"Good…" he murmured and then scanned the play, "Let us proceed with the scene…You have no problem delivering short lines." He raised his eyes and glared at her, "What is it with you and monologues?" He asked her and she nervously wrung her hands.
"Well, I know the words…but I fear I will forget them. That causes me to stumble over the lines and-…"
"And you mangle the speech." He finished for her and she gave a tiny nod, "Let us go over Juliet's longer speech now. Do you remember it?"
"The same scene-…"
"Of course." He hissed and Chantal nodded quickly.
"We shall see…" he muttered and cleared his throat, "By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; he lent me counsel and I lent him eyes. I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far as that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise." His eyes returned onto her face and she prayed she wouldn't forget a line.
"Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face; else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, for that which thou hast heard me speak would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' and I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries, then say, Jove laughs… If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully-…"
"Stop, stop. You forgot a line." The Earl cut her off while shaking his head, "Why are you stumbling over the words?" He asked her as he walked over to her and thrust the text in her hands.
Chantal bit her lip, "It is long and I have never practiced it before-…"
"No excuses! I won't allow them. I bet that if I weren't here watching you, you'd have no problem saying the speech." His voice gained volume and she winced.
"I told you I needed the text-…"
"You shouldn't need the text! I know you've studied the scene for two days. You barely slept. So, why are you scrambling the words?" His breath was hot on her face as he spoke and she gulped.
"I don't know."
"You must know!" He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his teeth before he pointed at the speech, "Do it again. Once while looking at the lines and once without the text. Now." He stepped back and turned his back on her.
Chantal took a deep breath and the words left her mouth before she could stop herself, "I bet you never had this problem with Mrs. Barry." She muttered and he stilled.
"What?"
She winced and shook her head, "Nothing."
"No, no." He turned to her and narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp, biting, "Repeat that."
Chantal raised her chin, "I said you surely didn't have this problem with Mrs. Barry." She repeated and his nostrils flared.
"I don't see how that has anything to do with you…" he murmured in a low, deadly quiet voice, "Would you by any chance want to be Mrs. Barry?" He cocked a single eyebrow and she frowned.
"No."
"Because it seems to me that instead of focusing on others, you should focus on you. Tell me, Chantal." He walked up to her, "Do you want to be famous for your talent, or for your inability to form words upon the stage? Hmm?" He tilted his head to the side, his eyes expectant and his lips pursed in that particular way of his.
She cursed herself for being momentarily distracted by his features.
"My acting, of course." She replied at last.
"Why, but of course." He drawled dryly, "But you do have a difference when compared to Mrs. Barry."
"And what is that?" she asked and he looked at her up and down, "I don't have a talent?"
He snorted, "No, my dear. The difference between you and her is that she'd be more obliged and less reluctant to offer her slit to any willing patron…That alone is a feat." He stepped back.
"You think it a feat to be able to submit to men in that way?" Chantal asked and he shook his head.
"No, madam. I find it a feat to be able to succeed in both fields." He replied and she froze.
"Correct me if I am wrong, my Lord, but I do not think it a great accomplishment to be able to bring pleasure to a man. That is only natural and instinctive."
"Is it?" He blinked as his mouth twitched with glee, "So is acting." He pointed a finger at her, "Continue."
Chantal looked at him as if he was insane, "You expect me to carry on when you have just called me a whore?"
Rochester covered his face with his hands, "When did I call you a whore, Chantal? I was counting the differences."
"I thought it was a suggestion. Is that what you want from me?" She asked, her temper flaring and she knew by his expression that he was not impressed.
"Calm down. You're making a fool out of your self, Chantal." He murmured as he focused his gaze on a spot above her shoulder.
"I thought you had the privilege of making me look like one!" She threw her hands up in the air, "What made you think that I'd care what Mrs. Barry did and does? I know all about it. I've lived in Duke's theatre for months, hoping that someone would notice me and that they'd finally give me a part. I know all about her talent in both fields, my Lord. Now, if you're done with your crude comments, I'd like to go to bed." She clutched the book to her chest and turned on her heel, ready to walk out.
"For God's sake, woman!" he exclaimed, "How on earth do you always get the wrong meaning. Halt at once."
Chantal paused and slowly turned to face him, "You seem to always know what to say to rile me up, my Lord. I am not made of stone."
"But you have the name of it…" He approached her and smirked, "Isn't that the meaning of your name? Stone?"
She sighed, "Yes." She nodded with exasperation.
He regarded her with intense eyes for a moment and then stepped back, "Enough of this silliness, yes? The speech, Chantal. Then you can rest." He told her and she watched him as he came and resumed his place by the window. The breeze ruffled his hair and he pushed his locks away with the help of his hand.
"I just…need a moment." She muttered as she opened the play and looked at the text.
Taking a big breath she closed her eyes and then started speaking, "Can you repeat Romeo's lines, please?" She murmured and Rochester's lips twitched, but he nodded nonetheless.
"By love, who first did prompt me to inquire; he lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far as that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea, I would adventure for such merchandise."
"Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face, else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek, for that which thou hast heard me speak to-night." She started and the Earl smirked and stepped outside for a moment, pacing calmly as she spoke, "Fain would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny what I have spoke: but farewell compliment! Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,' and I will take thy word:" Her eyes went to him and he noticed it and raised his own gaze on her face, beholding her with sobriety despite the tiny curl of his lip.
"Yet if thou swear'st, thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries, then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo, if thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully: Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won, I'll frown and be perverse and say thee nay, so thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world. In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond, and therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light: But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true than those that have more cunning to be strange. I should have been more strange, I must confess, but that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware, my true love's passion:" She watched as he walked back inside and shut the play sharply, "Therefore pardon me; and not impute this yielding to light love, which the dark night hath so discovered." She finished and he brought both of his hands behind his back, hiding the play from view.
"Well? What-…"
"Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops-…" He cut her off with Romeo's lines and she frowned, but continued.
"O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable."
He started approaching her as he spoke, "What shall I swear by?"
"Do not swear at all; or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, which is the god of my idolatry, and I'll believe thee." She whispered as he stopped a breath away from her face.
"If my heart's dear love-…"
"Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; too like the lightning, which doth cease to be ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night! This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath," she paused as he brushed his nose against hers and smirked at her through half lidded eyes, "May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet. Good night, good night! As sweet repose and rest come to thy heart as that within my breast!"
"O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" At her sharp inhalation, he smirked and with a light chuckle he pulled back, "Sweet dreams, Chantal." He murmured and with that he pulled back and turned away from her, "We shall continue tomorrow." He threw the play on his desk and then walked out of the French doors.
Chantal watched him go and then headed for her chamber with a frown.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
She heard the talking and laughter as she made her way to the parlor, but she didn't stop. The windows were wide open and the sunlight was slipping through them freely. It was a particularly sunny day despite the humidity.
As she arrived at the threshold, she cleared her throat.
Ms. Gardor looked up and smirked, raising her glass of gin in salute as she distanced herself from the Earl whose eyes were suddenly too focused on Chantal.
"Forgive me for intruding." She murmured and Rochester blinked.
"Will you join us?" He didn't try to hide the fact that he was staring at her cloak and small purse with insistence.
"I fear I cannot. I have some business in London." Chantal replied and she didn't fail to notice that Anne looked particularly bored with her appearance.
"Business?" The Earl murmured, "I thought we were going to practice this evening."
"I can see that you are preoccupied at the moment. I shall take this opportunity to visit my sister and take a few more of my belongings…If your Lordship allows me to take the horse." She added and he stood up. He took a sip from his glass before he placed it on the table and then approached her.
"You can take the carriage…Take Alcock with you in case you need something." When she opened her mouth to object he cut her off, "I insist." He said with slightly narrowed eyes and she gave a small bow.
"As you wish, my Lord." She replied and his hand found its way upon her cheek. His knuckles grazed her skin with the softest of touches and she nearly frowned at the action, but did nothing to pull back. The familiarity he expressed was getting more intense by the day and that, instead of bothering her, was mesmerizing her. She was mad.
"Good day." She whispered before she stepped back and backed away.
She turned on her heel and left the manor just as Anne's voice echoed behind her.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
"I told you not to leave the carriage." Chantal said as they entered Woodstock. She brushed her soiled skirt and looked at Alcock.
"Men never listen to women. You think you know everything." She informed him and he winced.
"That ain't going to help, ma'am. I got a sore foot, a sore leg and a sore buttock." He said and Chantal shook her head.
"You don't push a reluctant horse to step through mud. How many times did I tell you? You never listened."
"If I hadn't pushed the horse, we wouldn't be here now." He disagreed as he ran a hand through his dirty hair.
Chantal stared at him, her muddied cheek a wild contrast to her pale skin, "If you hadn't pushed it, we wouldn't have fallen into the swamp!"
"So, it's my fault? You were the one insisting to go to London after such heavy rain!"
"I wanted to leave the house! I would have done so alone!" She defended herself and Alcock snorted.
"You? Alone? Don't make me laugh. That drunkard nearly took you behind your sister's house! You really should consider moving out of that house for good." He pointed a dirty finger at her and she narrowed her eyes, ready to snap, but a voice cut her off.
"What the fuck happened to you two?" The Earl's voice billowed from behind them and Alcock whirled around to face him.
"Eh, the horses got stuck in the mud, me Lord. I tried to push it, she helped, we fell." He grinned sheepishly, "Good news is, we made it back…"
"You look ridiculous. Both of you. Order the maid to draw you a bath. You stink." He eyed Alcock with distaste and then turned his gaze on Chantal. His mouth twitched as he watched her and then he decided it was time to beckon her closer.
"Come with me." He murmured and she frowned, but followed him nonetheless.
As she passed, Alcock tugged on a lock of her hair and she glared at him.
"Leaf." He explained and she rolled her eyes before she walked ahead.
Rochester glared at his servant who gave another sheepish smile before he followed after Chantal.
"My room." He called when she started heading for her own chamber.
"My Lord?"
He didn't speak, but placed a hand on her wet back, propelling her towards his chamber.
"I crave for some riveting company." He groaned as he opened the door to his room, "Ms. Gardor left me wanting." He muttered and Chantal cocked an eyebrow.
"I thought she'd be the most pleasant company…for you at least." She said as she placed her unsoiled purse on a nightstand and turned to him.
He snorted as he shut the door and turned the lock. Chantal frowned, but didn't comment.
"Don't look so suspicious, madam…When did I take advantage of you?" He smirked and she rolled her eyes.
He made a small sound when he saw her, "When you do that I have the urge to reprimand you. It's very unlady like for a lady to roll her eyes." He told her as he walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a flask.
"So you say…" She watched him taking a generous gulp from the flask and took a moment to look at his bed.
"I never take my mistresses to my bed, Chantal. That'd be low." He informed her with a teasing smirk and she went dizzy by how quickly she turned to look at him.
"Pardon?"
"Ms. Gardor. I didn't shag her in here." He clarified and Chantal tensed up a little.
"Oh…"
"I used the wall instead." He watched her closely and when she flushed he chuckled darkly.
"What? You thought I brought her here to chat? She doesn't prove a witty partner in that field." He shrugged and took another sip, but she knew that he was already a little drunk from the way his eyes shone.
"Maybe you should go to bed. We missed practicing and-…"
"You look lovely even when covered in dirt." He cut her off and she paused.
"Um…" She sputtered because he wasn't usually lavishing her in compliments.
"However, there's already a filled tub inside. Use it." He waved his hand towards the washroom before he plopped down onto his bed.
Chantal stared at him, "I can go to my chamber."
"But I want you here." He said through gritted teeth and then blinked almost drowsily, "You won't refuse me, will you?" He murmured and she bit her tongue.
She couldn't. Not after his confession.
"I need a robe-…"
A cloth was thrust towards her and she caught it.
She looked at it and then at him. He had given her his robe.
He regarded her calmly as he crossed one leg over the other and she nearly laughed at the image he made with his boots on.
Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the washroom.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
She tried to ignore that he was next to her; she really did. He hadn't objected when she suggested she should study the play more. He even gave her his own copy, the one upon his bookshelf.
No, he didn't mind that. But he did watch her. He had long finished his drink. His flask was empty. So, he had found another task; to watch her as she read.
"I was thinking that maybe we should prepare a short scene." She murmured, just to make his eyes leave her face, "Hmm?"
"No. We shall keep practicing that scene." He shook his head at her and reached out.
"But why?"
He plucked the play from her and smirked, "Because it's difficult."
She pursed her lips in thought, "And you want to impress the manager."
"Not me. You shall."
"You sound confident." She pointed out and he threw the book behind him, not caring where it landed before he replied.
"I am."
"You didn't seem so taken by my delivery." She looked at him sideways.
"I cannot look taken by your delivery. That would bring my duty to an end." He breathed in deeply and she imagined that she smelled too heavily of soap. She had scrubbed herself raw because the bloody mud was persistent.
"Right." She muttered.
"Because I must push you." He pointed out as he slid closer.
"Right."
"To your limit."
"Hmm."
"In everything." He smirked as he slipped his hand between the folds of the robe.
She gasped as his warm fingers came in contact with her bare stomach.
"My Lord." She caught his wrist, but he slapped her hand away sharply.
She winced, "What was that for!?"
"For denying me access." He said rather coolly.
"I have a right to deny you access!"
"Have you?" He murmured as he pushed the material away so her belly was visible.
Chantal hissed as his fingers brushed over the long thick scar and it was her turn to smack his hand.
He chuckled and caught her wrists in one hand, pulling them away from her body and his wandering hand.
"Sir!"
"Desist calling me sir! It's so pretentious." He muttered as he leaned closer, inspecting her scar with clinical studiousness.
Chantal blushed. Three different shades of crimson coloured her cheeks as his gaze lingered upon her skin, and when he stroked the thick patch of skin with his thumb she shivered, her stomach muscles contracting under his touch.
"You have not taken good care of it. That's why it looks so rough." He murmured as he released her hands and swung his arm, his hand groping around on his nightstand.
His fingers curled around the small bottle of ointment he used and he came to loom over her again.
"How…how did you know where to look?"
He snorted, "You don't have to be a genius, my dear." he muttered as he uncorked the bottle and looked at her, "Is this the reason why you're so uncomfortable in front of others? You think that others can see it?" He leaned closer to her stomach and she flushed even more, "Only we know of our scars, Chantal. Only we are hurt by them because they remind us things we do not wish to remember." His breath fell upon her stomach and she shuddered.
She briefly wondered why she was not moving away. As she locked eyes with him, she knew why; because he was the only one who knew enough about her. He was carrying his own scars with him; scars that would have brought any other male to his knees because they were a blow to his ego.
For Chantal, those scars were proof of her deficiency as a woman.
She blinked as she watched him gazing at her and when his mouth touched the edge of the scar she tensed up, and when his tongue joined his lips and laved at the length of it she whimpered. He parted from her skin with a kiss and then looked up at her.
"This will help." He murmured with a tiny smirk as he poured some of the oil on his fingers and gently applied it on her skin.
"You're very forward, my Lord." She whispered as she clutched onto the front of the robe with both hands.
He chuckled a little, "Someone has to be." He pulled his hand away and looked up at her, "Done. You're welcome to use it." He told her as he corked the bottle and gently rolled it in his hand.
"I guess…I should thank you." She breathed with a sigh and he stared at her in silence.
"You're so very composed…" he murmured cautiously and she blinked, "Sometimes you're too much …" he trailed off and she frowned.
"I'm sorry?"
His lips parted, but he did not speak. Instead, he leaned forward and gazed down at her for a few seconds before he kissed her on the lips.
She inhaled harshly through her nose and as she tried to move back, his fingers grasped her jaw firmly.
Her eyes widened, but when he parted her lips they drifted closed because it felt too odd to stare at him. The fact that she almost went cross-eyed didn't help either.
Satisfied with her compliance, he smirked against her lips and his fingers found purchase around a lock of her semi-wet hair. His tongue found hers and proceeded to roam her mouth with leisure that spoke of a thorough practice and experience.
When breathing became a need, he pulled back and opened his eyes.
"I…" she started, but her voice failed her, "I thought you had already sated your needs, my Lord. What was that?" She asked and he frowned.
"I never kiss wenches on the mouth, Chantal." He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and she blinked rapidly, the wheels already turning in her head, but he broke the eye contact and rolled away from her.
"Sleep." He muttered as he stood up from the bed.
She watched as he placed the oil on his nightstand and then walked over to his desk. He sat down, brushed his fingers over his mouth and then picked up his quill. He didn't look at her again.
End of chapter 10
Author's note: Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it…What do you think of our dear Earl's actions? Hmm? Perhaps he's getting a little too comfortable with Chantal, huh?
By the way, the scene they practiced was from Act II, scene II of Romeo & Juliet. I just love that scene.
Anyway, comments? I want to know your thoughts! Please, let me know what you think.
Until next time!
Xxx Lina ;o)